Robert Ryan’s first exhibition on home soil in eight years, at the Lone Goat Gallery in Byron Bay, aptly titled Place of Dreams is a combination of intricately detailed canvases and four bold lined monotype works.

The canvases currently on display evoke the signature Ryan feels he has finally arrived at – particularly the piece entitled Belongil Fields, a complex mix of merging tones in green, white and yellow that run along the canvas in repeated pattern with no reference to beginning or end. From a distance, the viewer is lost in an abyss of green fields, it is only upon close inspection that the detailed labour of the work reveals itself. The painting took Ryan two months to complete, working eight to nine hour days in his studio six days a week.

“It drove me mad at times,” he says. He often regretted starting it but there was no turning back and the feeling of finishing this massive work was in his words “euphoric – like a natural high”. An approach he says is different to the way he worked in his younger years – ‘the more you learn the harder it is to walk away from a painting thinking that it’s finished, because now you know it’s not…”

Artist Robert Ryan. “The isolation can be extreme…” Painting: ‘Subdivision No 2’, 160cm x 180cm oil on canvas.

Despite the challenges Ryan experienced working through Belongil Fields, he rarely becomes frustrated when painting and saus hat treating it like a job can often make the process easier to tolerate. However, working as a full-time artist however often means long solo hours at the studio – and during the creative process the isolation can often be extreme, particularly in the lead-up to an exhibition. “It can often be a surreal experience being subject to so much time alone and then suddenly being in the spotlight,” he says.

Ryan’s introduction to painting developed when he was young, growing up in South Australia. He had a natural artistic talent which was quickly noticed by his teachers: “Art was something I was good at, people would look at it and fuss over it, that’s what made me continue,” he says. After school he studied at the North Adelaide School of Art – later renamed the Central School of Art.

As a seasoned traveler over the years, the focus of Ryan’s work is often influenced by the places he visits, a permanent residency set up at the Apollo Gallery in Ireland – for whom Ryan still paints – resulted in frequent stints to Dublin between 1997-2004, as well as surfing and painting trips through Indonesia and the Maldives. Often personal themes will emerge unintentionally and he is surprised at what the work will reveal without him anticipating a particular result. To draw attention away from something that may be particularly private, Ryan will often tweak the work and readjust its focus in order for the painting to steer itself slightly off course, the initial concept will regain the focus while the underlying themes blur in the distance or are distorted in symbolism.

Robert Ryan: ‘Hinterland’, oil on board, 68cm x 72cm

He gives no clue about the true meaning behind the work in Belongil Fiends, but states the title has nothing to do with the painting. I’m reluctant to delve any deeper so as not to encroach on his privacy, art, after all, is open to interpretation.

Ryan claims that intention always needs to be considered when preparing new work, stating that: “It might not be the reason to start a painting, but it’s certainly the reason to frame a painting.” In the past, preparing for three solo shows a year was typical, more recently however, Ryan has paired this down to one, opting instead to spread his time towards preparing works in other areas such as competitions as well as developing pieces for the Apollo gallery in Ireland and the Anthea Polson gallery on the Gold Coast.

Despite having had thirty-odd solo shows during his career so far that has seen his work in galleries such as Art House Gallery, Rushcutters Bay in Sydney, the Schubert Gallery on the Gold Coast and the European Parliament in Brussels, and awards such as the Tweed Regional Acquisitive Award on two occasions and the MacArthur National Prize award, Ryan feels that it’s only been in the last handful of years that he has finally come to claim his own signature through the works created: “When you’re young, you can’t help but be influenced by work that you admire, it’s only now, after 20-odd years of painting professionally that I’m starting to really get my own voice.”

 Robert Ryan’s exhibition is on at the Lone Goat Gallery until February 4. lonegoatgallery

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I’m strapped in my harness, perched on top of the point at Pat Morton Lookout in Lennox Head.

Beside me, the chief pilot of Seabreeze Hang Gliding, Ashley Wilmott, completes the final safety checks and connects me to the frame of the glider, a task overseen by his assistant colleague. The penetrating roar of the northeasterly winds blowing in our direction has me wondering whether the conditions are suitable for flying. Wildly sashaying branches of nearby trees only serve to reinforce my concerns, but given the amount of other hang gliding companies also present, I put my concerns down to first time nerves and I’m reassured that conditions couldn’t be better.

“We like to fly with winds that range from 20 to 30 knots – today’s around 25, so it’s perfect,” so I’m informed by a fellow pilot, who thereby scuppers any chance I may be able to work my way out of the predicament I seem to have got myself in.

Wilmott briefs me on some simple instructions, designed to ensure I don’t get in the way of our launch for take-off. His enthusiasm and cheery grin lifts my confidence although not completely – but after an unconvincing o.k from my end and a gesture to his assistant, we’re ready to take flight.

Getting ready for take off: Paula Hagefremidis and pilot Ashley Wilmott

At this stage I have pre-conceived ideas about what’s involved. I picture myself sprinting alongside Wilmott, running to the end of the cliff and hoping the force of the wind will carry our weight into the sky and not have us plunging to the rugged rocks below, but the experience luckily, turns out to be far gentler than that and my adrenalin-fuelled enthusiasm amounts to nothing more than an over-active imagination.

As the pressure of the wind hits the cliff face, the glider is already making attempts to lift off the ground. Ashley steadies it with his body weight and I bounce on tiptoes while we wait for the opportune time to gently lift off. ‘Smooth enough take-off for you Paula?,’ he enquires as the grassy headland slowly falls away beneath us.

And they’re off – just a gentle lift and the glider is air-born…

I tuck my feet into the pouch of the harness and ready myself in the ‘prone’ position, a gliding term used to resemble being bird-like. The force of the wind alters greatly at this height and I experience the pressure penetrating through my ears, nose and mouth. Despite its relentless presence, there is still somehow a simultaneous stillness that envelopes me and the realisation begins to dawn on me that this is the closest I will ever get to being a bird.

The high point of the flight lifts us to 500 feet above the ocean, extended out in front of the cliffs. Wilmott’s shifting body weight controls the glider in the direction we choose to go and he performs a series of trick manoeuvers that dip the wing in sharp accelerated turns, displaying the capabilities that can be achieved during flight. A keen surfer, Wilmott compares the experience of the plunging twists we take riding the air, to that of riding a wave. The high speeds make me feel like I’m on a fast paced roller coaster ride.

The world drops away as they take flight over Lennox Head.

We hover over rooftops of residential houses and passing traffic travelling along the coast road. Wilmott fills me in on some special moments of flying he’s experienced in the passing decades and I’m struck by the opportunities he’s been witness to during that time. ‘I’ve flown in the Swiss Alps, I’ve been on top of a rainbow,” he tells me. “I’ve even had my glider shredded in mid-flight by territorially aggressive eagles attacking.”

A fully accredited Hang gliding federation of Australia pilot, Wilmott has spent time learning about the intricacies of weather conditions and aerodynamics since the 70’s. His greater pleasure is to offer the opportunity of sharing something he enjoys so with others.

Our 30 minute flight draws to a close, coinciding with the increasing wind that has picked up in the late afternoon. Wilmott confidently steers us back to the grassy headland we took off from and the sudden descent seems as though we’ll be heading for an abrupt landing, but, just as my thoughts on take-off were mistaken, so too are the ones for landing. As the approaching headland gets closer and closer, I’m mentally preparing myself to hit the ground running. The apparent threat of an accelerated landing disappears as Wilmott gently shifts his weight at the last minute and slows the pace of the glider right down, so that I am literally placing one foot in front of the other as we finally touch down.

It was a surreal sensation to be in the vast expanse of the sky, with its freedom and weightlessness such a contrast to our day-to-day life on the ground.  Every time I look at the sky I think about the opportunity I had to experience a gift of this nature, and I’m grateful for it.

Photography by Paula Hagiefremidis

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It’s an idea beautiful in its simplicity – a food stall within the local farmers’ markets, selling dishes prepared with produce directly from the other market stalls.  The Nomadic Kitchen’s Robert Costanzo many fans love his ethos of cooking food true to his Sicilian roots, and his  committment to sustainable, local farming writes Paula Hagiefremidis.

‘Here…try this…’  Chef Robert Costanzo darts to a serving plate from the shelves of his food cabinet and scoops up a spoonful of lentils. The aroma of fresh mint and thyme offer me little opportunity to decline  – even if I wanted to. I swallow a mouthful and nod my head ‘yes’ when he asks if it tastes any good.

While I absorb the flavours of the lentils, Costanzo is already assembling plates for morning breakfast orders at the farmers market. The silky yolk of a fried egg with its white body singed around the rim from the subtle burn of the fry pan, offers a delicious crackle in the mouth when you bite into it. He arranges a slice of local sourdough charred from the coals of the burner with a quick rub from a fresh nib of garlic and serves it with the sides of the day.  It’s hard enough choosing from the savoury menu but it’s made all the more difficult by the equally delicious desserts Costanzo’s sister, Michelle serves.

Costanzo has gained quite a following. Sold out cooking classes, pop up dinners and the countless private cooking requests spread by word of mouth are testament to his style of rustic Italian food – and his engaging personality.  But the polished plates from satisfied customers  didn’t always start off by piling up so high and I am surprised when Robert informs me that he had a hard time fitting in.

‘People were reluctant to try my food at first,” he says.  “In Australia you either eat cereal or bacon and eggs for breakfast’. The food at Costanzo’s stall – green beans cooked in red wine and vinegar, chickpea bruschetta or cooked zuccini coated in olive oil and fresh herbs are more usually associated to a serving platter of antipasto, not morning breakfast. But for Costanzo, this is typical of meals on the farm in Stanthorpe with his Sicilian family.

When he recounts the times he spent in the garden collecting vegetables with his grandfather for his grandmother to prepare and cook, it occurs to me how  food can serve as an anchor to keeping relationships – even those from our past alive. I enquire a little further, and discover that the family foundations feature strongly even in his kitchen equipment – from the three legged charcoal burner made by his father Mario, a collection of knives from fellow chef friends, to the serving tray that originally belonged to his grandmother that has now faded in colour, time erasing what Constanzo tells me used to be a lemon yellow penny farthing bike featured in its centre.

Costanzo’s chance introduction to cooking came through a work experience opportunity initiated by his cousin. He enjoyed the experience and continued on to a prestigious award winning French restaurant in Brisbane but his time there soured his impressions of what it meant to be in the kitchen. The disassociation of the produce from its origins weren’t in keeping with his ethics and the knowledge he’d gained as a result of growing up on the property.

Michelle and Robert Costanzo – staying true to their Sicilian heritage.

When he visited Stanthorpe the kitchen staff would marvel at the quality of the produce he would bring back to Brisbane, surprised it had been grown here, in Australia. When we touch on the topic of small farming he explains how supermarkets crippled the industry in Stanthorpe, affecting the potential for future generations to harness the knowledge of farming, a prospect that he sees currently happening on a global scale with dire outcomes for sustainable living. Part of the appeal of working in Byron Bay was due to the high standard of produce available in the area and the respect and consideration toward small farmers.

A stint in Europe saw his beliefs confirmed through the business structure of two enterprising women – Rose Grey and Ruth Rogers of the famous River Cafe in London. ‘It was all about food and produce. These two women have completely changed the face of how people eat in the U.K,” he says. “They’ve produced amazing offspring from it, a lot of  the TV chefs we see come from there.”  His two-and-a-half years at the Café reinforced the principles with which he was raised – the critical importance of having good relationships with your farmers and the value of the knowledge that is exchanged through those relationships.

On his return to Australia Costanzo had planned to pass through Byron Bay to help his sister Michelle sell apples at the farmers’ markets for a short while, but the potential of a food stall sparked his attention. He initially put in an application for the Tuesday markets at New Brighton and the rest fell into place.  These days customers can enjoy not only Costanzo’s delicious food, but have a choice of desserts from Michelle.

Food on the move: savoury

or sweet…

Costanzo assures me he is content at the moment serving his grandmother’s food to us for a while longer  but as the Nomadic Chef name implies (taken from a journey to Mongolia and spending time with the nomads in their yurts), there is always the chance for globe trotting adventures to steal him away from us.  But at least for the time being the weight of an increasing line up to order his food, the bartering exchange of chillis, passionfruit and the like from neighboring stall holders for morning breakfast will be sufficient to keep the Nomadic Chef still a little while longer.

The Nomadic Kitchen is at the Tuesday New Brighton Farmers’ Market, Thursday’s Byron Bay Farmers’ Market and Friday’s Mullumbimby Farmers’ Market

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